A New Dawn
by She's a Star
Summary: A Camille fic. One morning while they're in the country, Marguerite reflects on Armand and being in love.


~ * ~ A * N E W * D A W N ~ * ~

by She's a Star

Disclaimer: 'Camille' belongs to Alexandre Dumas.

A/N: Camille is one of my absolute favorite books ever, and I'd been trying to write a fanfic for the longest time...finally, inspiration struck (waves at muses, Agent Maya/Mya and my little Lost Boy from Peter Pan figurine I got out of a happy meal) and here is the finished product :) This takes place sometime when Marguerite and Armand are staying in the country.

~*~

Never in all my years on this earth which I once considered wretched did I imagine that I could feel this way. I never even dared to dream that I could experience true completeness, true bliss. 

But oh, Armand...Armand. How can I thank you, my friend? Words cannot express the gratitude and love that I feel towards you. You saved me, Armand. You saved me from the horrible hell of my former life that I feared would be eternal.

You lay beside me, your arms wrapped around my body...the sun dances through your hair and across your sleeping face. Your lips, that when pressed against mine give me the most beautiful sensation imaginable, are fixed in a small, contented smile. Do you dream of me, darling? I know that you are forever in my thoughts, awake or asleep. 

In moments of sheer happiness like this one, I can barely believe that this is reality and not some blissful dream. To think that I, Marguerite Gautier of all people, am in love...madly in love with you, my Armand. 

I was quite skeptical before you came along and saved my soul, darling. Yes, I knew that love did exist...I never doubted that. But never, ever did I believe that a kept woman such as myself could fall in love. After all, dear Armand, we live to serve, and to flatter ourselves with expensive gifts that are meant to fill the aching in our empty hearts. Nothing more. 

So very often, we toss back and forth the teasing nickname of 'child'. But really, Armand, I was the child. I lived recklessly, aware of the consequences all the while and yet not bothering to care. After all, if I was to pass away, would anyone really care? Would any tears be shed?

No. 

I was just a courtesan...no one wastes their grief on us.

But no longer am I a courtesan...no, my sweet Armand, now I am merely your mistress. No...not merely. To be your mistress is the greatest title that one could ever have, and I am honored. 

You stir beside me now, murmuring softly to yourself.

"Marguerite," you say sleepily, your tone muffled, "I love you."

I feel my heart soar at those three magical words...'I love you'. Never had I expected that a man would say the beautiful phrase to me with true meaning. Yes, of course I've heard it before, but never truthfully-when my customers present me with diamonds or fine silks, they sometimes choose to throw the words in, but only to try to give it meaning. To try to please me. Well, they needn't bother. All I needed was to be paid, and I was pleased.

But that is the past...a mere shadow in the back of my memory. Now I am yours, Armand, and only yours. Our futures will be entwined as one, and no one will ever be as happy as we.

Your eyes are fluttering open, and your smile grows as you focus on me. I love the way you look at me; as though I am all you need, and as long as you have me, you could never ask for anything more. 

I know, my darling Armand, that I look at you in the same manner.

My lips lower slowly to yours, and when they meet, the purest of passions sparkles between us. The sunlight creeps through the window, lighting the room with a sweet golden glow. It feels as though angels are dancing among us, silently proclaiming that this is truly what heaven feels like. 

We bask in the sunlight, wrapped in each other and happier than anyone else in the world. This moment seems to symbolize a new dawn in my life. The sun set last night taking my past with it, and it rises creating a new Marguerite...one pure as the most innocent of virgins. After all, what can be more pure than love?

This, Armand, is our new dawn.

Our new life.

END


End file.
